


Picture Perfect

by beware_of_fangirling



Series: Destiel One-shots [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Artist Dean, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Photographer Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beware_of_fangirling/pseuds/beware_of_fangirling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is an urban artist. Cas is a photography student. In a city of eight thousand people, their meeting is inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture Perfect

Castiel groaned and dropped his head down on his desk. This was impossible! There was just too many choices, and if he chose wrong, he could completely fail!

 

He was tasked with creating a miniature photo gallery of one piece of urban art for his photography class. Living in New York City, there was an ample selection of artwork to use. That was the problem. He had to choose one thing out of hundreds, thousands! It had to be something that spoke to him, and that part of the project was killing him.

 

He could _not_ fail this project. Photography was his life, and this project would make or break his grade.

 

"Lighten up, Cassie. You've been sitting there for ages! You're not going to find anything by sitting at your desk."

 

Castiel spun his swivel chair around to face Balthazar, his roommate and best friend for the past three years. "I know I won't find anything here, but it's already dark out. If I'm going to find something it would be better in the daytime."

 

"Then take a break! You're going to give yourself a migraine."

 

"Stop bugging me. Don't you have an English paper due?"

 

Balthazar was a culinary major, but most of his work came from the rest of his classes. The Brit huffed. "I have all weekend to do that. It's Friday night and we are two college boys living in New York City. Let's go to a bar!"

 

Castiel groaned, but Balthazar would not have it. "I'm not talking anything big or skanky, unless you would want-"

 

"No."

 

"Fine, fine, just seeing. I heard about a new bar opening only a little ways away. What do you say? It's supposed to be very friendly, and not too crazy."

 

Castiel sighed and relented. "Fine, but not too for too long. I'm getting out at ten tomorrow to do some more searching."

 

"I can work with that! Onwards, stressed-out friend of mine!"

 

**> >>>><<<<<** 

 

Castiel hated to admit it, but Balthazar had made a good call with his choosing of a bar. It was a small hole-in-the-wall place called The Roadhouse. It had a wooden interior, and a pool table that looked older than Castiel's mother. The bar was worn and chips from years of use and classic rock music thrummed in the background.

 

It was a very nice-looking bar.

 

It also had a very nice-looking bar tender.

 

For the record, that was Balthazar's initial observation. (Not that Castiel was arguing because Hello, biceps!)

 

The bar wasn't very crowded so they easily found two seats at the bar. It was only a moment before the bartender came over to take their order. Sadly, it was not Mr. Adonis, though this one was not too bad looking. (Okay, he was very attractive, but he made Castiel feel as tall as his cousin.)

 

Balthazar ordered them two beers and Castiel accepted his with a small huff. Every time they went out, Balthazar tried to get him drunk, saying he needed to loosen up. Castiel never did. Someone had to make sure they got back to the dorm.

 

"Come on Cassie, bottoms up!" Balthazar downed his own beer in one go. "Shots?"

 

"Not a chance," Castiel declared stiffly. He shouldn't be here, he should be doing his other assignments back at the dorm. He should be out looking for something to do his project on. He should be-

 

-listening to the Greek god of a bar tender who was talking to him.

 

"-need anything else?"

 

"Not shots," Castiel answered before Balthazar could say anything. The Brit glared at him.

 

"I'm going to leave you now. Come talk to me when you are ready to be fun." He sauntered off to talk to a group of complete strangers.

 

Castiel needed to reevaluate how he made friends.

 

He was quickly distracted from Balthazar's mini bitch-fit by Mr. Adonis talking to him. "I think you pissed your boyfriend off."

 

Castiel grimaced. "He is _not_ my boyfriend."

 

"Really?"

 

"It would be like dating my cousin," he said adamantly.

 

Castiel thought he saw on odd glint in the bartender's eye, but it was gone before he could properly analyze it.

 

"In that case, your next drink is on me."

 

Apparently an analysis was not needed.

 

Castiel looked at the bartender curiously. He was extremely used to people offering to buy him drinks, especially people like Mr. Adonis- speaking of...

 

"Can I get a name first? I need something new to call you."

 

"I'm Dean. What exactly were you calling me before?"

 

"Wouldn't you like to know," Castiel replied easily and was that flirting? Were those flirty words exiting his mouth as sound waves?

 

Mr. Adonis- Dean, Castiel mentally corrected- chuckled. "I guess I'll just have to wait on that one."

 

(He found out four years later as they laid in the bed trying to delay getting out from under the fluffy comforter.)

 

"I guess you will."

 

Dean smiled at him and Cas smiled back, trying to keep in mind the rule he had told Balthazar on their way to the bar: Two hours max.

 

**> >>>><<<<<** 

 

They stayed out for five hours. Honestly, that was on Castiel more than Balthazar. More honestly, Balthazar went home with a pretty brunette at the hour mark and Castiel sat in a booth at the back talking with Dean for the remaining four hours.

 

They talked about everything and nothing all at once. Dean asked Castiel about his favorite subject in school as a child ( _History. It’s cool to think about the fact that humans have been here for so long and done so much and then all of a sudden you're a part of it.)_ Castiel asked what Dean's favorite color was ( _Blue_ and then there was a wink, can't forget the wink!)

 

Castiel felt comfortable around Dean, totally, inexplicably at ease. Dean was a complete stranger and Castiel was left wondering if there was actually a time in his life before Dean Winchester or if his entire life up to that point had been a dream and he was going to wake up and remember Dean being there for it all.

 

(He was there for everything after, so it all balanced out in the end.)

 

It was around the two hour mark when Dean asked Castiel's major.

 

( _So what are you studying?_

 

_Photography, though right now I think it might kill me._

 

_Why?_

 

_I have this big assignment due on Monday and I am at a complete block. I have to do a photo gallery on a piece of urban art and I can't find anything I really like!)_

 

Dean let the conversation carry easily onto their childhood school days, but Castiel caught him in deep thought a few times, worrying his lip (which would be distracting to anyone, thank you very much) like he was debating something important. (Pull it together Novak, you have only known him for a few hours, you can't know all his tells!)

 

(It didn't take long before he could write an Encyclopedia titled Dean Winchester’s Mannerisms. He explained them all to Dean on his worn couch when they had been dating for a year, while the television played softly in the background even though they had been more focused on each other for the past hour.)

 

Finally, when they had been there for five hours, Dean seemed to come to an internal decision. He stood up suddenly.

 

"I want to show you something," he said while grabbing his coat from the back of the booth.

 

(If life were a porno, that would have been when the belt came off. Castiel hated to think he might not have been adverse to life being a porno that one time.)

 

Castiel gave Dean a slightly apprehensive look, though it was more curiosity than nervousness. While most people would be worried about you know, _dying_ , Castiel strangely wasn't suspicious. He trusted Dean.

 

(And that scared him more than being dying would have.)

 

Castiel followed Dean out onto the street, where few people milled around and the sky was just starting to lighten to the point where the sun was not up but it was not the night-time blue that people imagine before sunrise. It was just five a.m.

 

They walked in silence, but it was not awkward. It was not the sort of silence that begged to be filled. It was rainy-Sunday-morning silence. It was watching-the-lightning silence. It was we're-both-awake-but-neither-of-us-plan-on-opening-our-eyes-yet-so-can-we-just-lay-here-together silence.

 

Castiel liked it. A lot.

 

Dean led him pretty far away from the bar, but Castiel didn't tire. Finally, they reached an old, burnt abandoned building and Dean stopped.

 

(Castiel should really get his Serial Killer Alarm checked out because he thinks it is broken.)

 

He broke the silence carefully, not shattering the glass but tapping on the window.

 

(Dean opened it and took him in from the cold.)

 

"I used to live here. It was to be an apartment building." Dean took a deep breath. "There was a big fire. They never rebuilt, but I've been here a lot." He turned to look at Castiel and held out his hand. "Come on."

 

Castiel took his hand and let himself be led inside.

 

(He thinks that he just started to understand the definition of soulmate.)

 

Dean led Castiel up two flights of stairs and down the hallway of the third floor. He stopped outside of a burnt door with a rusty metal _5_ dangling upside-down from a blackened nail. Dean seemed to be unnerved so Castiel gave his hand a gentle squeeze of comfort. That seemed to be enough, because Dean steeled his nerves and opened the door.

 

The walls were almost charred and collapsed in some parts and the ceiling seemed to take the brunt of the burns, but it was not the destruction that Castiel was focused on. It was the creation.

 

Art covered the room from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. Paint, spray paint, even pencil. The art was mesmerizing. There were angels and demons, monsters and people. It was beautifully horrifying and horrifically beautiful. More art emerged the deeper into the apartment Castiel wandered. Covering an entire wall of what he assumed to be the master bedroom was an incredible charcoal portrait of a woman, greyscale save for the green-ish blue of her eyes. She was laughing and smiling down lovingly onto the room.

 

"That's my mom," Dean whispered, clutching onto Castiel's hand. "She died in the fire."

 

"She's beautiful," Castiel whispered back.

 

"She was."

 

(Three years later, on the anniversary of the fire, Castiel woke up without Dean there. He found him crying in the very room they stood then. That was the day Dean finally told Castiel the entire story, how they had all gotten out but Mary wanted to go back in to help the people who didn't get out. She had always been a hero.)

 

(Five month later Castiel told Dean about his own troubled childhood. It had been his first time telling anyone since he was in high school. He knew then that Dean would always be there for him, no matter what.)

 

Dean led Castiel to the other room next, the one he had shared with his little brother Sam (the giant bartender, Castiel learned the two days later.) Across one wall was a child-like family portrait of stick figures. There was the tall father, who held the hand of the long haired mother. Two little boys stood on each side of them.

 

(Dean added another figure holding his hand six years later when Castiel officially became Castiel Novak-Winchester.)

 

(Another two years later he added two twin children at their feet.)

 

"I'm not exactly sure if it qualifies as urban art, but you can do your project on this." Dean suggested hoarsely.

 

Castiel took pictures using his digital camera, but he ended up handing in a different project.

 

(The way Dean's face relaxed when Castiel told him he didn't use those photos made the B he got worth it.)

 

(Castiel liked to think that was when Dean started to trust him without a single inhibition.)

 

(Despite the Brit getting annoyed in the next fifty years, Castiel called Balthazar to thank him every single anniversary.)

 


End file.
